Can't
by vivienn
Summary: There is a fifth brother, and he has a problem. prequel to movie.
1. Chapter 1

_this story is dedicated to the people who read every chapter like the good children they are, and leave without a goodbye. thanks a fucking lot assholes. i owe you one ;)_

_here's my disclaimer_

"You haven't been a very good student, Scott." Mr. Sundry scolded. He leaned against his desk, hands in the pockets of his blazer. "Cutting class, starting fights. Now smoking?" He clucked his tongue. Scott kept his head bowed. He crossed his arms angrily. Angry at being caught, mostly. Angry at the guidance counselor for taunting him. "I suppose it comes with being a Mercer."

"I am _not_ a Mercer." Scott said hotly, glancing up. Technically, he was a Mercer. He had been adopted by one Mrs. Evelyn Mercer, a lonely widow who got her kicks taking in troubled cases. Scott was one of them.

A Detroit native, born and bred, he had live with his physically violent, alcoholic father and his string of past-their-prime hooker girlfriends. He was the kind of guy who thought it was funny to put out his cigars on Scott's arm, and maybe starve him for a week or two. Three if he could get away with it. He had no memory of his mother, which suited him just fine. As far as he was concerned, his mother was a coward who had abandoned him to his monster father. He had lived with the violence until he was eleven, and social services stepped in. One too many beers left his father feeling rowdy. He knocked Scott into a wall, slicing his eyebrow open an inch long. The resulting stitches in the ER, a hastily explained bike accident at two in the morning, led to his father's arrest and his placement in a foster home.

From there was a string of whirlwind faces and trouble. Scott followed his father's footsteps closely enough, setting fires in closets and threatening his siblings with knives. A short stint in Juvie, after a botched liquor store robbery, left the social workers with no choice.

He was scheduled for a youth center by the Great Lakes, only fourteen years old, when Evelyn stepped in. She offered him a compromise. If he could control himself, she would allow him to stay with her and her four sons. Bobby, twenty two; Jerry, twenty one; Angel, nineteen; and Jack, sixteen. Scott figured anywhere was better than a detention center. Besides, if he was living with some old lady it would be easier to sneak cigarettes in.

He'd accepted the offer. Seven months of relatively incident free life at the Mercer's, and Evelyn adopted him.

That didn't make him a Mercer.

Apparently, Mr. Sundry disagreed. He drew himself to his full height, an impressive six foot something. Impressive, at least, to Scott, who was only about five four when standing. Besides, right now he was sitting in a chair. Mr. Sundry dwarfed him easily.

"Scott, I have tried to be patient with you." He sighed, crossing to the door and closing it. The room felt stuffy and claustrophobic suddenly. "I was warned of your violent outbursts and your past- experiences. I still agreed to let you enter the school." He sat down in front of Scott again. "I don't know if you're aware, but if I file an appeal with Social Services, regardless of your recent adoption, I can have you sent right back to a youth center." He smiled slightly, looking into the distance and crossing his ankles. "I can even send you to Juvie, if I word it right."

Scott gaped at him. "I- I can try harder. I promise." The Mercers were a lot better than twenty delinquents, he knew that much. He didn't want to go back. He liked Evelyn and her sons, even if he didn't want to be adopted.

Mr. Sundry reached down and touched his cheek. His fingers were cold, and Scott shied away. "You promise you will do better?" He murmured. Scott nodded. "Words are not enough for me. What do I get in return?"

Scott narrowed his eyes. He had a twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach. "What- what do you want?" He asked. The guidance counselor smiled.

"I think you know." He grabbed Scott's palm and brought it down to his zipper. Scott wrenched his hand back.

"I can't do _that_!" He tried to stand up, but Mr. Sundry pushed him down. "Please, I don't-"

"I think you're forgetting, Scott, that I hold the key to your future. I decide whether you stay here or spend the rest of your miserable life behind bars."

"You can't do that!" Scott cried, jumping to his feet. "No one would believe you. You're a liar." He wanted to leave- now. He wanted to find Jack and make him call Bobby, so they could leave. He would leave. He would go someplace else.

"A PhD is a lot more convincing than a criminal record, Scott." Mr. Sundry said coldly. "You are a lying little brat with no future and no discernible past. Anyone would take my word over yours, even Evelyn Mercer." He curled his fingers around Scott's upper arm and tugged him closer. "Now I get what I want, or I make your life a living Hell."

Scott flushed with shame, bowing his head in submission. "What do you want?" He mumbled.

Mr. Sundry smiled. He led Scott around behind his desk and sat down in his chair. He had a numbing grip on his wrist, his nails digging into the pale flesh easily. Scott hid his discomfort with practiced ease.

"I want you to get on your knees." Scott knelt between the counselor's spread thighs. "Good boy. Now undo my zipper." He struggled with the tiny metal object, his hands shaking. The man's cock sprang out, erect. Scott closed his eyes. "I don't think I need to tell you what to do now." Mr. Sundry snickered.

Scott wanted to bite down. He kept his eyes screwed shut and bobbed his head up and down. He choked back his tears, hating the taste of the man, the way he hardened even more in Scott's mouth. He came with a grunt, like an animal. Scott hunted for a garbage can, but Mr. Sundry grabbed his chin.

"Swallow." He commanded. Scott swallowed, tears burning the back of his eyes. The taste slithered down his throat like a bad memory. "Good boy."

Mr. Sundry turned away to readjust himself, and Scott stayed kneeling on the ground. He wouldn't cry in front of this jerk. He might throw up, but not cry.

"Can I go now?" He asked, his voice soft.

"Yes, you can." Scott jumped to his feet. He headed for the door. "Oh, Scott. One more thing."

Slowly, Scott turned. The guidance counselor put his hands against the door, effectively trapping him. He leaned forward and forced his lips against Scott's, biting down hard enough to draw blood. It welled in Scott's mouth, dripping onto his chin before stopping.

"I want you back in my office every day, before you go to lunch. Understand?" Scott glared at him, lip stinging. "Understand?" Mr. Sundry's hand shot out and grabbed Scott's chin. He nodded, forcing back the urge to whimper at the harsh grip on his face. "Just remember." The man cautioned. "I am the sole owner of your future. Don't screw it up, Scott, or you'll spend the next five years of your life in the custody of the state." He leaned in close. "It'll be like living with daddy all over again."

Scott pulled away, finding the doorknob and stumbling into the hallway. "Right." He muttered, voice cracking. "I promise."

He turned and ran away, heading straight for the bathroom, where he promptly threw up.

_so what does everybody think?_


	2. Chapter 2

_Here's my disclaimer_

Bobby Mercer prided himself on being a pretty clever guy. He was good at hockey. He was a decent enough worker. Even if he wasn't be school smart, at least he _was _street smart.

But for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why his youngest, and newest, brother was bugging out.

Scott wasn't a close contact kinda kid anyway, but the only one who had ever actually backed away when approached was Jack. Now, Jack was gun shy. Scott, brass balls all the way, always itching for a fight, would never _back away_ when anybody stepped towards him.

"What's up with you?" Jerry asked suspiciously, after Scott jumped a foot in the air and nearly shot off into the horizon when Angel touched his shoulder. "Looking for the boogeyman?"

Scott pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with one hand and turning in a circle. "Something like that." He whispered.

"Kid, you sound like you swallowed chalk." Angel jeered. Scott grimaced. "What's wrong?"

"Sore throat." He said dryly. "I gotta go."

"Yeah, I know." Bobby piped up. "I just waited twenty minutes for school to let out to come _get_ you and Crackerjack here." Jack scowled at the nickname. "Let's go."

"No, I mean I have to _go_. I have to leave." He faltered at the apprehensive looks on his adoptive brothers' faces. "I'm- I'm walking home with- someone."

"Who?" Jack asked.

"None of your business, that's fucking who!" Scott shouted. His raised voice drew glares from onlookers. Bobby reach forward to calm him down, but Scott tore out of his grip like a snake. "Sorry." He said lamely. "I have to go."

He turned and ran off, dodging students and people walking. Angel started to go after him, but Jerry grabbed the back of his jacket and held him back.

"Best to just let him run it off." He warned. "You know how he gets sometimes. And all those other foster homes. I don't know about ya'll, but I'd kind of like to keep my clothes unburned and my fingers on my hands. Thank you very much." He rubbed his had together and shivered. "Let's go, Bobby."

"What about Scott?" Jack motioned helplessly to the faceless crowd, scanning the bodies hopelessly for Scott. "We can't just leave him here. Ma will be furious."

Jerry sighed and got into the front seat of Bobby's car.

"It's up to Bobby." Angel suggested. Bobby glared at his younger brother. Jack stared up at him hopefully. "What do you think?"

"I think you should make some fucking decisions yourself once in a while." Bobby snapped. "But Jack's right. If Ma find out I let Scott get away, 'specially acting the way he was- Christ she would kill me and no one would ever find the remains." Jack and Angel got in the backseat. "Sorry Jerry, but you just got outvoted."

"Yeah, yeah." Jerry rolled his eyes as the car started. "Just don't come crying to me when he stabs you through the chest with a switchblade."

"Hey, c'mon." Jack protested as Bobby drove through the streets. "Scott's not all bad."

"No." Angel agreed. "Just mostly bad." Jack elbowed him, and Angel wrapped his muscled arm around Jack's throat, messing up his shaggy blond hair. "Mess with me again, Jackie." He threatened, laughing breathlessly. "I'll mess you up, pretty boy."

"C'mon, Angel, you're all talk." Jack squealed as Angel dove for him again, unable to escape the cramped interior.

Bobby ignored his squabbling brothers and slowed down to question a passerby. "Uh, 'scuse me ma'am. Have you seen a kid running by here? White, about five feet so, long black hair. Sorta this long." He gestured awkwardly to his shoulders.

The young black woman shifted her groceries from one arm to the other, pausing to think. "Yeah, I think so. Scrawny little guy?" Bobby nodded. "Looked kinda sick, like maybe he was tripping out." She squinted at the car. "I tried to avoid him. He was heading out by the docks."

Bobby thanked her and drove on. "Docks?" Jerry asked, wrinkling his nose in confusion. "Why's Scott going out to the docks?"

Obviously there was no need to have docks in Detroit. It was landlocked. The docks were the traditional name for a fairly large-sized pond open to swimmers in the summer. Now, late fall, it was closed.

Bobby sped up, a bit nervous.

"You think he's dealing?" Jack leaned forward as they approached the fenced-in park. The Mercer boys would be hypocrites to be angry with Scott for taking drugs. Dealing, however, was something they did not approve of. It was one thing to be taking drugs, quite another to be buying or selling them.

"That kid lights up cigarettes like they're matches." Jerry argued. "But he won't touch a drop of alcohol. And one time, I was doing a little hash in my room. That boy had a look like I stabbed him or something. Ya'll might be taking drugs, but I bet anything Scott won't-"

He was interrupted when Bobby slammed on the brakes, simultaneously flinging his door open and falling into the gravel.

"Bobby?" Jack cried out. "What are you doing?" The three remaining brothers got out of the car and watched as Bobby leapt over the fence like it was a foot tall, hurtling toward the figure smoking a cigarette.

"Hey!" He shouted as the figure jumped into the water. "Hey, stop!"

Jerry, Angel, and Jack all took off once they realized it was, in fact, Scott who had just dove into freezing water.

Bobby was never much of a swimmer. He jumped into the water with all his clothes in and paddled out to Scott, locking his arms around the thin boy and hauling him to shore. His clothes were soaked, making them weigh a ton.

"What the Hell is wrong with you?" He screamed, dropping his brother onto the sand and kneeling beside him. Scott coughed up a load of water, spitting onto himself. "Is it really that bad here?" Bobby grabbed Scott and shook him.

"What the Hell is wrong with me?" Scott snapped back. "You just tackled me underwater, you fucking animal. I was _swimming_." Bobby tightened his grip and snarled. He imagined he must look pretty scary, because Scott shrank away. "Why- why would I kill myself?" Scott looked less angry now, more troubled.

"I just- I just overreacted." Bobby let go of Scott and helped him to his feet. "It's November. The water is cold."

Scott rolled his eyes. "Duh." He snickered. "That was kind of the point." He trailed behind the four brothers as they trudged through the mud back to Bobby's car, discreetly dumping the stones he'd collected out of his pocket and onto the ground.


	3. Chapter 3

_Here's my disclaimer_

Fourth period seemed to go even quicker than normal. It was chemistry, so Scott wouldn't have minded had the circumstances been different. Unfortunately, once the bell rang he was supposed to be in Mr. Sundry's office.

His "suicide scare" yesterday had been effectively kept from Evelyn. Bobby, the idiot he was, apologized profusely for tackling him. Scott still wasn't sure how he'd managed to tackle him in eight foot water, Bobby being a stocky five ten.

The other three, with the possible exception of Angel, had kept a close eye on him the entire night. It wasn't as though Scott _wanted_ to kill himself. He had briefly entertained the idea the day before. But he was glad Bobby had found him and stopped him, since he hated the idea of being weak. Although even if he wanted to, Jerry and Jack made it difficult, what with "forgetting" to leave a knife at his place. As if he would actually slit his own wrists at the dinner table, in between the potatoes and meatloaf.

The closer he got to Mr. Sundry's office, however, the more he wished he'd sunk to the bottom of the lake like a stone. He hovered outside the door nervously, entertaining the idea of bolting. What could the guidance counselor really do? The threat of being sent away lingered in his mind, and he closed his eyes and steeled himself, knocking lightly.

Mr. Sundry was at his desk reviewing some files. He chewed distractedly on the end of his pen. All things considered, it could be worse. Mr. Sundry was young and slim, with almost effeminately long brown hair and square black glasses. He was undoubtedly attractive.

Scott thanked every star he had that his future did not lay in the hands of Mr. Cowl, the sweaty, overweight math teacher with acne on his neck and a bad comb over. If it had to be a guy, at least he wasn't hideous.

"Scott." Mr. Sundry said, smiling slightly. "Sit." Scott did as he was told. Just because he was glad he wasn't sucking off Mr. Cowl didn't mean he was happy it was Mr. Sundry. "I'm glad you're here." Mr. Sundry leaned across his desk. "Do you know why?"

"Because-" Scott hesitated, digging his nails into the chair. "You told me to come back, and I did?"

"Sure. Why not. I'm just glad to see you. Come here." Scott felt alarms going off in his head. He stood again and moved over to the counselor.

Mr. Sundry touched his lip gently, still swollen slightly from the previous day. You couldn't really see it unless you knew where to look. Mr. Sundry, being the cause, knew where to look. He stood, towering over Scott, and tilted his head back, pressing his lips against Scott's much more gently than before.

Scott kept his eyes trained on the wall behind them, on a very important looking degree. He tried to read the words, but the letters were too small. Mr. Sundry's hands were going uncomfortably close to the waistline of his baggy jeans, his tongue begging entrance into Scott's mouth. He frantically concentrated harder on reading the word, struggling to make out the confusing letters as Mr. Sundry's hand pulled Scott's down the front of his boxers. The first letter was an R. No, maybe a B. Definitely a B. With his free hand, Mr. Sundry kept a hold on Scott's unoccupied wrist, his other hand busy. He reddened as Mr. Sundry came in a wet, sticky mess into his palm.

Mr. Sundry pulled back. "Bestow." Scott said stupidly, staring at the degree. His wrist was numb where the man was holding it, and Mr. Sundry gave him a funny look. He let him go and zipped up his pants.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Scott."

Scott left the office like the hounds of Hell were on his heels. He went to the bathroom and scrubbed his palm clean, until it was bleeding slightly. He rolled up his sleeves, staring at his wrists. One looked normal, with the exception of faint nail marks. Mr. Sundry had made him bleed yesterday. His lip was fine, except it still hurt to touch it. But his other wrist. Scott stared sadly at the red ring looped around it, already bruising.

Cursing, Scott dragged his shirtsleeves over his thumbs to hide his tender skin. He dampened a paper towel and wiped his eyes, trying to take the sting away. It was only November. Only fucking November. He would never get through until June.

Taking a deep breath, he sidled out of the bathroom and shuffled down the hall, hitching his backpack higher up on his shoulder. The thought of eating made him nauseous. Instead of going to the cafeteria, he headed for his locker, intent on sneaking a cigarette by the back door.

"Scott?" Jack and a few of his drug addict buddies were goofing off by a water fountain. Jack checked his watch and frowned. "Shouldn't you be eating lunch?"

"Um-" He tried to leave discreetly, saluting Jack mockingly.'

"Yeah, kiddo. What are you, twelve? You should get some snacks." His taller friend curled around Scott, looping his arm over his shoulders. Scott ducked away.

"Pete, lay off." Jack complained. Pete ruffled Scott's hair.

"Relax, Jackie. I'm just having a little bit of fun." He laughed, his arm heavy on Scott's shoulders again. His palm was stinging and his head hurt.

"Whoa kid. Are you okay?" Jack's other friend, a gangly boy with a nose ring and hair so red it looked like a crayon, yanked Pete away. "Yo, Petey, you make a habit of hurting little kids?"

"I'm fourteen." Scott said, rubbing his eyes. "See you, Jack." He bolted before either Jack, Pete, or the other guy could say anything else.


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm worried about Scott." Jack's voice traveled up the stairs and clattered through the hallway. Scott sat on the landing, leaning against the wall. One leg was extended in front of him, the other jackknifed. He rested his chin on his bent knee, sighing.

It had been nearly two weeks since he first started meeting Mr. Sundry. Two miserable weeks. Scott curled his arm around his stomach and listened closer.

The bruise around his wrist was gone. It had been a weak one, and Mr. Sundry seemed determined to make them more and more noticeable. He even hit Scott once. The most recent bruise came from being pushed into a book shelf yesterday. The wood almost split his skin. For the first several hours, walking was difficult. He seriously considered he had broken a rib, even knowing that was a stupid thing to think. There was a big, dark stain across his skin from it.

"If you're so worried, how about you shut the fuck up and bring him some soup, alright sweetheart?" Bobby snapped. He was trying to concentrate on the hockey game, Scott knew, because of how angry he sounded. Hockey made Bobby angry. "I mean, he's fourteen for Christ's sake. How the fuck do you expect him to act?"

"Don't be an asshole." Angel scolded. "You know Jack is right. The only reason you're pretending not to notice is 'cause you don't know what's wrong."

"I'm not pretending anything, okay? Obviously he's got some issues. Nothing he can't work out by himself." Bobby said insistently.

"Maybe you forgot that- oh yeah- he tried to drown himself?" Jerry suggested. Scott raised his eyebrows. So now Jerry was rallying to his defense? Christ, he must be a mess.

"Hello, Jerry. He was swimming." Bobby drawled.

"Right. Swimming in November." Angel laughed. "Sometimes you're too stupid for your own good. You know that?" Something hollow hit the ground, and he heard muffled swearing.

"You wanna say that again?" Bobby yelled.

"Bobby shut the fuck up." Jack hissed. "Scott is asleep. For once." Scott thought hard. Maybe he had been staying up a little too late a bit too often. Jack would notice. They did, after all, share a room. "God. He's like, wasting away. You guys notice that?"

"Well, maybe he could eat some more dinner." Bobby admitted. "And get some sun once in a while. But don't you think if something was really wrong, he would come to us?"

Silence ensued. When had Scott ever gone to any of them with a problem? A real problem, not something superficial, like a flat tire or help with homework. He was just too resistant to any type of family.

A knock on the door interrupted the tension. There was the sound of feet, and Jack appeared. He opened the door to his red haired friend. Scott had seen a bit more of him now and again. He knew his name was Brandon, and he was a senior, a grade above Jack.

"Hey Brandon." Jack stepped back to let Brandon in. Brandon waved hello to somebody, and shook his damp hair out of his eyes. Jack reached for his coat when Brandon looked up the stairs and focused on Scott. His gaze caught Jack's attention, and he turned around. "Scott?" Even from this far away, Scott could see Jack grow pale. "How- how long have you been sitting there?"

Scott leaned his head back and shrugged. "I think maybe- right after I heard you go downstairs I got up again."

"So you weren't asleep?" Jack asked glumly. Scott shook his head. Jerry appeared at the banister, looking up at him.

"Shit." He muttered, disappearing again.

"So, um, how much did you hear?" Jack asked.

"Shut up, Jack, maybe he wasn't listening!" Bobby yelled. Scott shrugged and crossed his arms.

"Enough to tell you that nothing is wrong so please please stop freaking out. It's really pissing me off."

"Well, maybe you could eat something while I'm gone. I'll- see you when I get home."

"Bye mom." Scott made a face. He heard Bobby laughing. Jack stared helplessly up at him, and Brandon lifted a hand in farewell as they left the house.

"So, are you coming down?" Angel stood at the base of the stairs. Scott shrugged, figuring hockey was better to watch than wall paper, and tramped down the stairs. He fell onto the couch, lacing his fingers over his stomach.

It was dark in the living room. Scott found he was worrying about the next day. Mr. Sundry was growing increasingly, and uncomfortably, bold. He hadn't touched Scott yet. So far, all they ever did was kiss, and Scott inevitably found himself on his knees or with his hand down the front of the guidance counselor's pants.

"Hey, Scott, how about we go get some popcorn for the game?" Bobby asked during the commercial break. Scott allowed Bobby to haul him up; pointedly ignoring the looks Jerry and Angel were giving their older brother.

Scott smothered a yawn and reached up toward the popcorn, not noticing Bobby's eyes on him or the fact his shirt rode up.

"What the hell is that?" He hastily grabbed the hemline of his shirt and jammed it down, but it was too late. Bobby took hold of a fistful of cloth and yanked it up. "How did you get that thing?"

"What thing?" He repeated, trying to play dumb.

"Don't be smart." Bobby grumbled. "Did you get in a fight, or something? Is someone hitting you at school?"

_I'll be damned_, Scott thought angrily. _You noticed_.

"No." He said aloud. "I was climbing a tree yesterday and I fell out. That's all." Bobby poked the tender skin. "Ow, Bobby, stop it!" He yelped.

"You _fell_ out of a tree?" Bobby asked skeptically. "When? In between the time you spent sitting in the kitchen table and the time you spent playing Jack's guitar? You think I'm stupid?" He grabbed Scott's wrists and Scott pulled away hastily. The actions reminded him brutally of Mr. Sundry. "What, are you cutting now?" He yanked up Scott's sleeves, staring hard at the pale skin. Thankfully, all the bruises there had healed. Bobby focused in on Scott's raw, blistering hands. "You touched a burner? What's wrong with you?"

"I didn't touch a burner." Scott snapped. He ripped his arms away. "I told you. I was climbing a tree and I fell out. My hands got scraped. It was at school. I have a life away from the Mercers, you know." He shoved his hands in his pockets and stepped back. "Hockey's back on."

Bobby muttered something that sounded an awful lot like brat and turned away. Scott made the popcorn, dumping the bag into a plastic bowl. He went back into the living room and pretended not to notice the funny looks Jerry and Angel were giving him as he set the bowl on the table and resumed his post on the couch.

Bobby's angry roars sounded a lot like his father. He could really use his dad right now. His dad would've shoved his boot up Mr. Sundry's ass. He smiled sadly to himself, touching the scar over his eyebrow. He hated the stupid ER for taking his father away, hated Cheryl, the whore of the week, for testifying against a guy she'd known for a few days. He hated his dad for throwing him against the wall in the first place. Most of all he hated himself for being such a baby about it. If he hadn't said anything, maybe Cheryl wouldn't have felt bad and driven him to the hospital in the first place. Or maybe his dad wouldn't even have kicked him.

Still, he wore his scars with pride. Maybe his dad would like it when he got out of prison, which should be soon. There was a couple different convictions, he remembered.

Scott rubbed the scar again, his head aching. He curled his legs beneath him and leaned against the arm of the sofa, mindful of the bruise. Which Bobby noticed. He scowled darkly and folded him arms.

Scott tried to think of the last time he had actually slept for more than a few fitful hours. Insomnia was taking its toll. He rested his chin on his arms and closed his eyes, blocking out the shouts and cheers from Bobby and the television. The same way he blocked out Mr. Sundry.

_No one will believe a liar like you_._ No one wants to be associated with a selfish little boy like you_._ You failed_._ Not even the people you trust and love want you_._ You stupid little brat_._ You made them laugh when you thought they would care about you_.

_I own your future_.

It was Mr. Sundry's voice, mixing up everything he had ever said into one long hateful rant. Scott bit his lip until it bled, squeezing his eyes shut. He could feel the shame pouring into him, the pain and anger and fear. He could see Bobby's face twisted in disgust. Evelyn shaking her head in regret and sorrow. Jerry was laughing at him. Angel and Jack turned their back. And then-

And then Brandon, sitting on a desk at school and swinging his legs. Weird.

_You okay_? He asked.

"Scott? Scott, are you okay?" Angel was saying loudly. Scott's eyes shot open. Angel moved back in surprise. "Are you okay?" He sat up fast, heart hammering so hard he was sure they would hear it. He wiped his forehead, pressing his fingers against the scar.

"It's hot." He breathed. "I wanna go outside." He stood and walked to the door.

"No, Scott." Jerry protested. "It's December. Stay inside." Scott ignored him and walked to the door, pulling it open. Evelyn stood on the front steps, juggling several bags.

"Oh. Hi, honey. Can you give me a hand?" Scott nodded and commandeered two of the bags, and then a third. He brought them to the kitchen and started to put the groceries away.

Jerry appeared with two more bags, giving him a funny look. He methodically stacked the cans of soup in the closet, and carefully placed the squash in the drawer of the refrigerator.

"We need to keep you on a leash?" Bobby growled in his ear. Scott shook his head mutely, walking on his toes out of the kitchen and up to the room he and Jack shared.

He laid down on the bed and faced the wall, pretending to be asleep when Angel opened the door and looked in. It was a long moment before the door closed once more. He didn't close his eyes, for fear he would fall asleep again. It seemed like an eternity when the door finally slid open and Jack and Brandon stumbled in. They sounded drunk. Scott reflexively curled up into a ball.

"Dude." Jack slurred. "Don't wake up my little bro, 'aight?" The hinges of his mattress squeaked in protest as he thumped down on it. Brandon cast his shadow on the wall in the red glow of the digital clock. He was standing. Jack started to snore and Scott sat up.

"Aw shit." Brandon mumbled, staring at him.

"You can sleep here." He offered, standing up. "I'm going down to the living room anyway." He skirted around Brandon, who watched him, looking either confused or irritated. Scott wasn't sure which.

"So you're like, the sick brother, right? Jackie says you're sick." Scott felt his hackles raise. He glared at Jack.

"I'm not sick." He grumbled. "And they're not my brothers." Brandon raised a dark eyebrow skeptically.

"Sorry. Foster brothers."

Scott shrugged and tiptoed through the hallway, down the stairs and onto the couch. The clock said two seventeen. It was Saturday. Two days of freedom. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, light was spilling in through the window.


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer_

"Jackie, watch out!" Angel screamed. Jack ducked in time to narrowly avoid being struck full in the face with a hockey puck. Bobby had hit it so hard in a fit of rage it slid off the ice and launched itself at the boy. "Christ, Bobby. Watch it."

"Hey, I'm not the one who wasn't paying attention!" Bobby hollered back. He skated expertly over the ice, weaving in between the opposing team as well as his own, and hit the puck once again with the force of a Mack truck. It sailed across the ice and shot into the goal. "Yes!" He shouted, raising his stick. "Oh, that is another game to the Michigan fucking Mauler, thank you very much!"

Game won, the Mercers retreated to the edge of the pond to change their shoes and walk home. Bobby slung his arms over Jack and Angel's shoulders, Jerry being clever enough to stay away.

"Jesus, Bobby, you stink." Jack made a face. He slid out from under Bobby's arm, turning his face away. The brothers crossed the road and headed onto their street. "Who's standing in out front yard?" Jack asked suddenly.

Jerry shielded his eyes. "You gotta be kidding me. It's Scott." The other three turned to look.

Yes, it was Scott, wearing a t-shirt and baggy jeans in early December. As they drew closer, they realized he was also shoeless, digging his toes into the grey, frozen mud of the front lawn.

"What are you-"

"Someone- Arlene I think- called for you Angel." Scott held out the heavy white telephone. "It sounded kind of important. I was just checking to see if you were home yet. I got lucky."

"Your skin is blue, kiddo." Jerry pointed out, shrugging out of his heavy yellow coat and slipping it over Scott's shoulders. "I think you should go in and change into dry clothes." He started to march his troubling younger brother into the house. Bobby watched them leave shrewdly.

"Hey, Jackie, lemme ask you something." Jack shoved his hands in pockets and turned to Bobby. "You guys got any trees at your school? Any like, trees that you can climb or whatever?"  
"Bobby, this is Detroit." Jack reminded him. "Detroit, Michigan. The only trees we have here are the ones people grow in their basement."

"So, Scott couldn't have climbed a tree at school and fallen out?" He demanded. Jack shrugged.

"Maybe if he skipped and went to the park." They walked up the steps and into the front hall. "Why? Did something happen?"

Something crashed in the kitchen. Heedless of his wet boots, Bobby pushed past Jack and went to the kitchen door. Scott was staring miserably at a broken plate.

"Damn it." He said. "Damn it, damn it, damn it. I tried to catch it. That was my favorite plate, too." He knelt and started to pick up the larger pieces. "Bobby, can you get me the broom?" Bobby made a wary track around the glass, taking off his boots and throwing them into the laundry room, so as not to track mud all over. "Shit." Scott had cut a wide gash across his palm.

"Oh man, you okay?" He used the broom to push away the mess, grabbing Scott's skinny arm and pulling him over. He pulled a napkin out of the basket and pressed it against his palm to stem the flow. "It isn't that deep. You want to go take care of it and I'll finish cleaning up?" Scott held tightly to the napkin, standing and leaving.

"He is getting really careless, Bobby." Jerry said. "He's gonna get hurt. I just talked to Angel. You know the girl that called? It was an hour ago. An hour, Bobby."

"Come on, Jerry." Bobby said bracingly. He tried to keep his voice down, wondering whether Scott was in the habit of sitting on the stairs. "You really think he was outside like that for an hour? He would've froze to death."

"Maybe not for a whole hour." Jerry admitted. "But long enough. I brought him in, remember? His skin was almost blue. He was half frozen already." Bobby didn't have a reply, so he knelt and started to move the glass from the floor to the trash can. "What if next time it isn't something that'll just hurt him?" Jerry persisted. "What if he leaves the gas on, or drops something electric into a sink? It's getting dangerous. You have to talk to him."

"And do what?" Bobby snapped. "Tell him to knock it off? Jerry, he's a kid. Kids do stupid things. He'll do what Jack did. Scare himself outta his wits, and then grow a spine. Don't you remember? He was fine before Ma adopted him. He's just scaring himself now 'cause he doesn't know how long it's gonna last."

Jerry paused to think this over, glaring at Bobby. "Jack didn't smash plates or stand outside barefoot in snow." He turned and left the kitchen. Bobby put the broom away, taking his coat off and hanging it up.

Did Scott smash the plate? He seemed remorseful over it. Bobby wondered what else he had done lately that would warrant suspicion, slowly climbing the stairs. Obviously, the docks had been strange. The troubling bruise and raw hands. His new attitude. He had recently taken to long walks, and Jerry and Jack seemed to go to a lot of trouble to hide the knives. Sometimes he played Jack's guitar for hours, never a specific song. Just random notes, the same ones, over and over again. He would sit in a chair or on the couch for long periods of time as well, sometimes swinging his legs, sometimes laying down.

The light in the bathroom was still on. Bobby intended to check on Scott, see if he needed any help with his bandage. He peered through the doorway. Scott had his cheek pressed against the glass of the sink, facing the wall. His cut hand was extended gracefully, blood dripping steadily into the sink.

"It's gross, isn't it?" Bobby turned around. Jack was sitting cross-legged on his bed, staring at Scott. Bobby moved into the bedroom and shut the door. He jerked his head towards the direction of the bathroom.

"How long?" He asked, very quietly.

"He came up here, turned on the tap, sat on the toilet and keeled forward. I was gonna go help but he held out his arm and started doing that." He shook his head, shaking long blond bangs from his eyes. "Go stop him."

Sighing, Bobby opened the door and moved into the bathroom. "What's the matter, kid? You forget how to do a band-aid?" Scott didn't move. "Hey, hey Scott. What's up?" He poked his shoulder. Scott groaned, shaking his head. Bobby shook his shoulder roughly. "Scott."

"What?" Scott mumbled, lifting his head. He yawned, pulling his arm back and stretching. "What time is it?"

"Past your bedtime, apparently." Bobby grumbled. He pulled Scott to his feet, steadying him and walking him gently to his room. Instantly, Scott collapsed onto his bed. Bobby did his best to cover him with a blanket, noting his clothes were still damp. "You're an idiot." He announced to Jack, heading out of the room and downstairs to watch the rest of the hockey game.


	6. Chapter 6

_disclamer_

Brandon was sitting on the same desk again, swinging his legs back and forth and humming very quietly. Scott sat beside him, sitting on his hands to hide them.

_You okay_? Brandon called out. Scott nodded. _Man, you don't look too good_.

_Yeah, um, I threw up_. He admitted. Brandon shrugged, braiding a section of his long, sleek hair.

_I would've thrown up too_. Scott flushed. God, even his dreams thought he was sick. _If I had to kiss someone I don't like_. _I bet you're a good kisser_.

_I don't know_. He answered thoughtfully. _I've never kissed myself_.

Brandon leaned forward and pressed his lips against Scott's. It didn't feel wrong, like with Mr. Sundry. It felt normal. Maybe because it was a dream.

_Yeah_. Brandon pulled back. _You're a good kisser_. He smiled, tired and sad. _Wake up_.

Scott's eyes snapped open, and he sat up robotically. "Christ, what a fucking crazy dream." He muttered. He rubbed his head and looked around. Jack was struggling into a pair of pants, looking bleary-eyed. It was Monday. "Shit."

"Oh, I was gonna wake you up." Jack blinked at him. "Bobby says to get the fuck up or we'll drag you to school asleep, and Ma says honey are you sick?" Scott sneezed. "Oh, I guess you are."

"No!" Scott said, panicking. He had made sure not to miss a single day. Mr. Sundry would be furious. "I got something in my nose. I'm fine." Jack shrugged. Scott struggled with his shirt, digging through the closet and pulling on a ratty black one. He changed from his damp jeans to black ones a few sizes too big and shoved his feet into his sneakers.

"Dude." Jack grabbed the back of his shirt. "You need a sweatshirt." Scott looked at his arms. He nodded slowly and grabbed a zip-up hoodie. "Good boy." Jack reached out to ruffle Scott's hair, but found his younger brother was frozen stiff, a look of anger and pain on his face. "Whoa. Are you okay?"

"I- I'm fine." Scott mumbled hoarsely. He pushed past Jack, down the stairs and onto the front porch. His palm stung, and he rubbed the cut unconsciously.

God, he hated Mondays. More than any other day. Mondays were the day he had to go crawling back to Mr. Sundry like some lovesick puppy, after two days of being free. He bounced on the balls of his heels and stared out at the snow, feeling a ridiculous urge to throw himself into the snow and roll around. Bobby would be furious. After he had seen the bruise, he had been closely monitoring Scott's actions.

"Feeling okay, kid?" Scott glanced to one side, surprised to see Brandon sitting there. "Look like you saw a ghost." Scott stared out at the lawn, rubbing his scar and frowning.

"Maybe I did." He muttered. "What are you doing here?" He shook a cigarette out of the carton and offered one to Brandon, who took one and lit it with a match.

"Jack didn't tell you?" Scott rolled his eyes. "Right, obviously. Bobby has to take his car to the shop, like _now_, so I'm driving you guys." Jack chose that moment to stumble onto the porch carrying his backpack and a rapidly refreezing waffle.

"You hungry?" He mumbled around his food. Brandon made a face, and Jack shrugged. "Scott, Ma says go get something."

"I already ate." He said quickly. Brandon gave him an odd look. Scott opened the door and leaned inside. "I already ate." He shouted inside.

"Oh, right, right." Jack swallowed his food and pulled Scott around, gesturing meekly between Brandon and the smaller boy. "Brandon, this is my new brother, Scott. Scott this is my friend Brandon, who's giving us a ride today."

"Little slow, Jackie O." Brandon snickered. "We met by now." Scott took a drag off his cigarette, flicking ash into the snow. Brandon, who had already smoked down to the filter, threw the butt into the snow. He stood, unfolding his long legs and jumping off the porch. "Oh, um, I don't let people smoke in my car. Even funny, angry fourteen year olds."

Scott made a face and took one last drag, stubbing it out on the sole of his sneaker. Brandon nodded in approval. Scott got in the back seat and Jack sat in the front seat. Brandon started the car and tore out of the driveway. Scott slid on the plastic seats, grabbing Jack's arm from behind to prevent himself from sliding into the door when Brandon rounded a sharp corner.

"Christ!" He yelped. "Um, please slow down." He said to Brandon. He pushed his sneakers against the door and tried to brace himself against it. Brandon slammed hard on the brakes at a red light. Jack grabbed Scott's arm.

"Maybe, just maybe, if you had a seatbelt, you would be having more fun." Brandon called back to him. He drummed his fingers on the dashboard, and Scott was inexplicably reminded of his dream. He blushed and leaned back. "Yo, Jackie. I think your b- is Scott sick?"

"Scott you all right?" Jack called back. Scott nodded. "You look kinda green around the gills." Scott crossed his legs and closed his eyes. When he was younger, his dad liked to play chicken late at night, so Scott always sat in the backseat while his dad sped towards an oncoming car. His dad always won those games. He wasn't a chicken.

"Don't throw up." Brandon warned. Scott smirked. "I'm serious. That's gross." He hit the gas

"I'm not sick." Scott protested. "I just- don't like fast, um, cars." Closing his eyes was helping. He heard Brandon laughing.

"Don't like fast cars, huh? Kid where are you from?" Jack was laughing too, only less enthusiastically. Scott got the feeling he didn't like going fast either. "Okay, Okay. I'm slowing down."

"Hey, c'mon." Jack said nicely. "Be nice. He's just a kid." Scott leaned forward, opening his eyes so he could push Jack. "Don't be stupid. You're a kid."

He wasn't a kid. He kept this thought to himself. Brandon parked the car. Scott fumbled with the door and stumbled into the snow, staring oddly down at his legs. Great fucking driving. His backpack was heavy on his shoulder. He took a deep breath to steady himself, and felt an arm over his shoulder.

"You okay?" Brandon's voice was low and concerned. "I'm sorry. I won't drive so fast next time." Scott slid away from him.

"It's okay." He muttered, clearing his throat. "I'm- last night was weird." Brandon raised an eyebrow in what may have been confusion, but thankfully, he didn't push the subject. Jack struggled with his backpack.

"Let's go, Brandon. Scott, Brandon is driving us home. Meet us back here."

Scott mock-saluted, sauntering into the school with a confidence he didn't feel. Mr. Sundry's office door loomed in front of him, but he passed it quickly, ducking his head as Mr. Sundry appeared in the doorway.

"Scott. Can I talk to you?" Scott stopped dead in his tracks. Suddenly it was hard to swallow. He glanced discreetly up and down the hallway before unwillingly entering the office. Mr. Sundry closed the door behind them and locked it. "You know, Bobby Mercer- I didn't peg him as a nice guy. Did you?" Scott shook his head. "Yeah. That's why I was so surprised to get to my office and find a message from him. You know what it said?" Scott shook his head again. "Do you know what it said?" Mr. Sundry snarled, lunging forward and fastening his fingers around Scott's shoulder.

"N-no." Scott choked out. Mr. Sundry's face was inches away from his. The guidance counselor reached down and lifted Scott's shirt. "W-what are you-"

"So, you get into the habit of showing your brothers all your bruises?" Scott felt the blood drain from his face. "That's what I thought." He let Scott's shirt fall back down. "What, you're getting sick of me? You told on me to your brothers?"

"I- I don't know what Bobby said. He saw the bruise when I was trying to reach an upper shelf." Stupid Bobby. "Really." Damn it. Mr. Sundry studied his face intently. He slowly let go of Scott's arm, moving his hand to his chin and tilting his head up. "I'm sorry."

"That's okay." Mr. Sundry said quietly. "As long as no one figured anything out." He pressed his lips to Scott's cheek gently, catching the side of his mouth. "Come back before lunch."

Scott stood and left before Mr. Sundry could say, or do, anything else.


	7. Chapter 7

_disclaimer_

Jack was sitting next to Brandon in the car, passing a joint back and forth. He sighed, to himself really, but Brandon heard it and turned to him.

"What's up, man?" He asked, taking a drag and holding his breath. Jack accepted the burning roach back, staring blankly out the window.

"Scott." He mumbled.

Brandon tried to look sympathetic. He just wasn't the sympathetic kind of guy, and besides- lately the only thing bothering Jack was his new little brother.

"What else would it be?" Jack complained, leaning his head back. "That kid's a wreck. You saw him this morning."

"Yeah." He said, reluctant to be dragged into yet another Mercer family knockdown-drag out. Those brothers didn't argue, or even fight. They _tore_ into each other, ruthlessly. It was almost frightening.

"I mean, I tried really hard to let him know he could come to me." Jack was saying. "I'm just trying to be a good big brother, but I've never been a big brother before. I don't know what to do."

Brandon, who had never been a big brother either, couldn't say anything. He tried to stay sympathetic. "Maybe he doesn't like you guys." He offered.

Jack glared at him, smoke seeping through his nose. He looked like an angry dragon. He started to cough. That made Brandon laugh. He slapped Jack's back.

"Don't get off until you cough." He recited. Jack waved him away, turning so his body faced Brandon.

"Thank you, Mother Goose." Jack said irately. Brandon grinned sheepishly.

He had forgotten that Jack didn't like to be touched a lot. It was difficult to have a crush on your best friend, more so when he was traumatized as a child.

To distract himself, he opened his door and stepped outside.

"Where are you going?" Jack asked, crawling across the front seats and emerging into sunlight. Brandon shrugged.

"Needed some air." He said lamely. Jack nodded and got back into the car.

Brandon really did look like a girl. That was Jack's personal opinion, but he didn't share it with anyone else. It was bad enough that he got teased all the time for his wild hair and his piercings. He didn't need to be ragged on because his best friend said he looked like a girl.

_Not_, Jack thought privately, _that this was a bad thing_.

He had never considered it before. When Brandon got back in the car he stared straight out the window, distracted. Jack studied the tilt of his chin, the way his hair melted and shimmered around itself. He was sort of pretty, in the sunlight.

Jack stiffened when his thoughts replayed themselves. His movement pulled Brandon from his daze.

"What?" He asked, sounding lethargic.

"Nothing, man." Jack said softly. He touched his lower lip with his index finger, squinting hard at Brandon.

"You're being weird." Brandon complained, drawing his knees up and sitting Indian style. "What did I do?"

"How long has your nose been pierced?" Jack blurted. Taken by surprise, Brandon paused a moment to think.

"I dunno. Three years, maybe."

"And how long has your hair been red?" Jack continued. He thought, suddenly, that if he was going to make a fool of himself he might as well go all the way. "It's been a while, right?"

"Eighth grade, man." Brandon smiled and held a strand of hair between two fingers. "I guess it has been a while." He focused on Jack. "What's on your mind, Jackie O? You forget what I look like?" He held his hands out modestly. "Take a look."

"Why do you say Jackie O?" Jack wondered aloud. "Everybody says Jack, you say Jackie O. Why is that?"

Brandon was starting to look uncomfortable. "Jackie Onassis, man. Kennedy's wife." He turned away.

"That's a girl." Jack reminded him.

"Yeah, so?"

"Do I look like a girl?" Brandon turned and stared at Jack. He flushed and drummed his fingers on the driver's seat.

"What this fuck is this, twenty questions?" He snapped. Jack smiled a quizzical smile. "Shit." Brandon said, more to himself than Jack. Jack started to open his mouth, but Brandon kissed him.

That shut him up good.

When Brandon pulled away, he drew his knees up and locked his arms around them. He stared moodily out the front window. "Sorry." He said.

"Um, for what?" Jack asked. Brandon snorted, making his hair flutter. "Okay, that was a stupid question. Don't you think- aren't you going to look at me?" Brandon turned to face him, scowling. "Okay, don't you think if I was going to leave I would be gone?"

Brandon chewed the inside of his lip, tasting blood. He swore mentally. Jack made things difficult. "So what are you saying? You're gonna stick around?"

Jack studied his friend's face. Maybe Brandon wasn't as untouchable as he looked. He curled his arm around the back of the driver's seat, leaning forward.

"Yeah, I'm gonna stick around." Jack muttered.

Brandon no longer cared Jack hated being touched. He leaned forward and kissed him again.

_sorry this was so short. i added it in as an afterthought after i finished the story. anyway, big thanks to 4everdreaming, who appears to be a big fan of this story. yay. i have fans._


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer. Sorry it took so long._

It was perfect. Blood dribbled onto his chin, and the buzzed, tattooed artist handed him a greasy napkin to wipe it away. In the dirty, flecked mirror, he could see the ring glinting metallically in the dull light. Someone handed him a drink, to make the burning feeling in the corner of his mouth go away.

"Nice choice, kid." The man said. He flexed his junkie thin muscles as Scott paid him and stood. He pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders and headed outside.

It was snowing. Scott stared up at the cloudy sky and hummed a little. His lip was burning from where the needle had stabbed. He touched the ring gently. It hurt, even to touch it. He poked it with his tongue and winced. Even if it hurt like a son of a bitch, it was beautiful and it was his.

He began the lonely trek home. The piercing had been a spur of the moment kind of thing. He had passed the neon lights and thought of Mr. Sundry. How his lips made Scott's burn and sting. So he went in and got it done. The houses on his street were decorated for Christmas, a mere two weeks away.

Once, when Scott still lived with his father, the old man had been dating a thirty-something with a bad habit of wearing belly shirts and pants a size too small. They had all climbed into his father's beat up station wagon and gone to the bar. Afterwards, smashed out of their minds, his father and the girlfriend took turns smashing into Christmas decorations in front lawns. Scott stopped to stare at a reindeer display, imagining himself stealing Bobby's keys and hitting the glowing scene at sixty five.

Evelyn was in the kitchen, listening to the radio, when Scott got home. He could hear her singing Christmas carols to the empty room. Bobby had been gone since before he left on his walk. Something about celebrating a birthday with a few friends from his new job. He could hear Jack in his room. Angel was visiting his new girlfriend's family, and Jerry was still at work.

"Hello?" Evelyn was standing in the doorway. Scott smiled sadly at her as he took off her coat. "Oh, Scott. Honey, where did you go?" He shrugged and moved forward, intent on finding something to eat. "What's that?"

"What's what?" He repeated unthinkingly. He winced inwardly at his hoarse tone. Evelyn squinted at him, cupping his chin in her hands.

"That. The ring." She reached up to touch it and seemed to think better of it, lowering her finger. "How long have you had it?"

Scott looked over at the clock. "About a half an hour. Do you like it?" Evelyn eyed it strangely. "Ev- Evelyn, do you like it?" He held her wrists loosely, so she would face him. "You think it looks nice?"

"It's beautiful, you know that? But I wish you had mentioned getting it." Scott shrugged and rubbed his pale arms. He moved into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, pulling out a carton of juice. "You want to help me make cookies, Scott?" She put her hand on his shoulder, and he flinched. She drew back quickly. "Why don't you have a seat?"

They sat across from each other at the scuffed wooden table. Scott could see a scratch from where Bobby had thrown a wrench at Jerry, and another that Jack said Angel made once when he was fooling around with his girlfriend. The surface was stained and beaten down, all the marks of a family. He traced the flowers on the placemat, until Evelyn grabbed his hand to stop him.

"I can't help you unless you help me." She said gently. "Tell me what is wrong. I can help you." Scott opened his mouth soundlessly. He pulled his hands from her grip slowly and placed them in his lap. "Scott, honey, I only want what's best for you. Is it- the adoption?"

"No!" Scott said, more forcefully than intended. He clenched his fists to stop them from shaking. "No, I like it here. It's- It's just that-" He broke off, squeezing his eyes shut and looking down. She would never believe a liar like Scott. "I- I miss my Dad. Can I see him soon?"

Evelyn lowered her eyes sadly. "Scott, I don't-"

"Please." He begged. "I just want to see him. I want my dad back. Is he going to be out of jail soon?"

"I don't know, Scott." Evelyn held her arms open, and Scott hesitated before allowing her to hug him. "I'm sorry, but you can't go back to that house."

"But- but I don't wanna go back, Evelyn." He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Maybe you can take me to visit him? Please." He blinked to clear the fog from his vision and reached up to brush the scar. "I haven't seen him in almost four years. I miss him." He was surprised to find he actually did want to see his dad.

"I- I'll see what I can do, honey." Evelyn murmured. Scott nodded into her shoulder, cringing as his ring hit her blouse. She let him go and he scooted away. "Now, are you hungry? I can make you a sandwich."

"I'm not hungry." He said quietly. He drank his juice. The front door banged open, and Bobby tracked snow into the kitchen. He gave Evelyn a sloppy kiss on the cheek, ruffling Scott's hair.

"Hey, Ma, I brought some friends over. Okay?" He gestured widely to the living room, where a heavy set man stood looking at the pictures uneasily. "His name is Frankie. Scott, come meet Frankie." Bobby grabbed Scott's arm and dragged him, protesting, into the living room. "Frankie, this is my little brother Scott. Scott, this is Frankie." Scott nervously waved hello.

"What are you, a faggot?" Frankie asked rudely. Scott looked away, pulling his arm from Bobby's grip and heading for the stairs.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Bobby demanded. He caught Scott and pulled him back around. "Apologize man. This is my little brother."

"Sorry." Frankie grunted, shrugging his broad shoulders. "Just, I've only seen fags with those rings." Bobby looked confused, and Scott took the opportunity to climb the stairs to his room.

Jack and Brandon were sitting on the floor looking at some magazine when Scott walked in. He paused, briefly, before skirting around them. "Sorry. I'll just be a minute."

Fuck Mr. Sundry. Fuck Evelyn and the Mercers. He was sick of them all. He was going to leave, for good this time, and find a ride to the Social Services. He didn't even care that he might go to the Detention Center, if it meant getting away.

"What are you doing?" Jack stared oddly at his bag.

"What the fuck's it look like?" Scott snapped curtly. He zipped the bag closed and headed for the door. Jack followed him, saying something to Brandon. Bobby and Frankie were still arguing in the living room, and Bobby moved toward him.

"Oh, well look at that." He said in amazement. "You _do_ have your lip pierced. What's going on?"

"Bobby, stop him!" Jack insisted. Scott didn't even bother with his coat. He was furious, suddenly. He wanted to leave. He pushed his feet into his sneakers and felt Bobby's hand close around his wrist.

"Don't touch me." He growled, opening the door and wrenching away from Bobby. His whole body fucking hurt. Mr. Sundry had tore his arms open that afternoon. The bruise, half-healed, was aching and pounding. Bobby and Jack were speaking at the same time, making it difficult to think straight.

"Scott? Where are you going?" Evelyn called out. "You know I don't like you out this late." There was a funny, whining sound that Scott suspected was Frankie's laughter. "Scott?"

He kept walking, down the sidewalk and towards the corner. There was a bus stop close by. He wondered if it still ran this late. Bobby was chasing after him, slipping drunkenly on the snow and ice.

"What are you doing, man?" He yelled, finally catching up. He grabbed Scott's shoulder, surprised when the younger boy hissed in pain. "What?" He hadn't realized his grip was so strong.

Scott carefully pulled up his sleeve, mindful of the deep gouges across his skin. Bobby stared at them. "Bobby, damn it, I think you reopened them." Yes, he had. They leaked blood slowly, bubbles of scarlet dripping down his arm. "Aw, fuck. Do you know how hard it is to get bloodstains out? I really liked this shirt."

"How did you get them?" Bobby demanded angrily. "You fall out of another fucking tree?"

"Maybe." Scott snapped.

Bobby grabbed his wrist and jerked him forward, shaking him. "This is not funny, Scott. How did you get them?" Scott pushed Bobby as hard as he could, which really didn't have that much of an effect. "Knock it off." Bobby screamed. He grabbed Scott's chin and lifted his wrist. "It's not funny. This isn't a joke. What the fuck happened?"

"I did it, okay?" Scott yelled back. "'Cause I'm so damn angry. I scratched my arms open. It that better? Is that what you wanted to hear?" He forgot completely about his bag and his plan. "Because you're an asshole, Bobby. Because I miss my dad and you fucking introduce me as your brother. That's why I did it." He knelt and scooped up his bag. "Now, goodbye. I've had enough drama to last me a lifetime."

This time, when he stalked down the road, no one grabbed him to stop him.


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer._

The Youth Center was crowded and noisy. Scott had been there three days and already he liked it better than the Mercer's. He had even streaked his hair with electric green, since his roommate had accidentally made too much dye.

Evelyn, Jack, and Angel had stopped by to visit and ask him to come home. Legally, she was his mother. Social Services could send him back with her. But he refused, insisting he wanted to go up to the detention center that had been previously discussed. Evelyn had not protected him. She would never care about him. He had had to sit with them for a few minutes. The counselors insisted he "give it a try". He hadn't said a word to them.

Now, Scott was sitting in the common room, playing checkers with a retarded girl named Suki. He didn't pay much attention to what she was saying, and he was cheating. He figured that the social workers would give him a few more days before sending him back to Evelyn's. Maybe they would even send him back tonight. If they did, he had worked out that he would steal Evelyn's purse and use the money to get to a bus station. Where he would go from there, he wasn't sure.

At the very least, nobody had questioned the scratches on his arm. It was a small consolation. He wondered if they would let him stay longer if he told the doctors they were self-inflicted, but then guessed they had too much to worry about. The only thing he really wanted to do was see his father. Evelyn would never let him visit now, and he didn't know where the jail was.

"Scott?" Almost perfectly on target, a young worker named Jenny was calling to him. Jenny was nice. She had long blond hair and cerulean eyes. Scott thought that, if he ever had a mother, he would want her to be like Jenny. "Honey, I know this is difficult for you, but Evelyn Mercer is here to take you home."

"That's okay Jenny." Scott responded. He tugged his sweatshirt on over his head. "I have to live somewhere, right?" She gave him a puzzled smile, and he followed her to the front hallway.

Evelyn and Jerry were waiting for him. Jerry was playing with his keys. Evelyn looked a bit like she had been crying, and Scott felt slightly guilty he had caused so much trouble. He still said nothing as they walked outside and got in the car.

"Scott, please." Evelyn sat next to him in the backseat. "Tell me what's bothering you. I want to help." Scott didn't respond. Jerry snorted irately. "Jerry, stop it." Evelyn warned. "Scott, please look at me." Scott swiveled his eyes in her direction. "There's someone at home we want you to talk to. It might help you."

"I doubt it." Scott said scornfully, propping his chin in his hand and turning away. He hated Evelyn. He hated fucking Detroit. All he wanted was to find his dad and live with him. He wondered what they would be doing, right now, if his father had never been taken away. Probably, Scott would be watching him drink in some smoky bar and playing darts with his drunken friends. A Hell of a lot better than sitting in a car with Evelyn and Jerry.

They pulled into the driveway a bit later and Jerry turned off the engine. He bit his knuckle and hesitated. "Okay kid I'm only saying this once." He turned to face Scott. "No one, not even my brothers, is allowed to make my mother cry. Do you understand?" Scott didn't bother to reply. Jerry was continuing anyway. Evelyn looked ready to burst into tears all over again. "I don't care how screwed up you are. I don't even care you're fourteen. If you make her cry again, I will personally kick your scrawny ass. You got me, _Scott_?"

"Jerry, please." Evelyn insisted. Scott opened the door and crunched into the snow. He still wasn't wearing a coat, but by now, the shock had worn off. His small bag of clothes had been abandoned at the shelter, which Evelyn may or may not have noticed. He rubbed his arms and followed Jerry and Evelyn into the house.

Mr. Sundry was sitting on the couch.

Jack sat beside him, Bobby nursed a beer at the kitchen table, and Angel leaned noncommittally against the doorway. In the kitchen, saying something to Bobby, was Brandon. Scott focused briefly on him. But Mr. Sundry easily occupied most of his attention.

"What the fuck." Scott grumbled. He turned to look at Evelyn, who guided him to the couch and sat him down.

"Scott, Mr. Sundry is here to talk to you a bit about what's going on." Evelyn said. She patted Scott's arm and sat in an armchair. Mr. Sundry cleared his throat.

"Scott, I want to start by talking about your problems now." He said. "Are you upset about your father?" Scott looked down, drawing his knees up to his chest. "How about the adoption? Is that the issue?" He traced a flower drawn on the toe of his sneaker. "Scott, nobody can help you but yourself." Evelyn crossed her legs. Mr. Sundry leaned over and patted Scott's knee comfortingly. "Would it help if you and I talked in private for a bit?" Evelyn started to stand.

"No!" Scott shouted. He scrambled to his feet, furious. Mr. Sundry looked shocked and upset. No one noticed his expression, though. All eyes were focused on Scott. He pinched his lip and clenched his fist. "I- I hate you." He whispered.

"Scott!" Evelyn cried. "Stop, right now!"

Scott grabbed a frame and threw it. "God damn it." He seethed, winding a lock of hair around his index finger. Fuck it. He didn't even care that Evelyn wouldn't believe a single word. It wasn't like he was fucking staying. "I hate you. I hate what you did to me and what you made me." He said coldly. "If you own my future, then I don't want one." Mr. Sundry stood slowly, clearing his throat. Scott pointed a shaky finger at him. "Go to Hell." He whispered, turning and walking through the front door.

The porch was freezing. Scott rubbed his eyes and sat on one of the chairs. He tucked his legs beneath him and wrapped his arms around himself. The front door slammed open and Bobby threw Mr. Sundry hard into the front lawn.

"You stay right there!" He yelled. "I'm not fucking finished with you." He turned to Scott. "I just wanted to say welcome back." He was weaving, and his eyes looked red in the dull light. He jumped off the porch and kicked Mr. Sundry hard in the stomach. The guidance counselor gasped and folded in on himself. Scott leaned back and watched Bobby kick him again and again. He dropped to his knees, straddling Mr. Sundry and lifting him up by the collar. "You son of a bitch!" Bobby yelled. Angel and Jerry were standing on the porch, arms crossed. "What the fuck did you do to my brother, you sick fucking freak?"

Mr. Sundry was coughing up blood. Evelyn, sobbing now, stood on the first step and watched Bobby with her hands pressed tightly to her lips. Her shoulders shook. Angel stepped forward and put his arms around her shoulders.

"Scott?" Jack stood with his hands shoved in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. "Why didn't you say anything? I'm only trying to help you." Scott shrugged.

"I'm a liar and a brat and no one would have believed me." He replied. Jack pulled him up and shepherded Scott toward the house.

"I would have believed you, kiddo." He swore. Scott looked over his shoulder to see Mr. Sundry staggering to his feet and wiping his mouth. Then Jack pushed him into the doorway and sat him down on the couch.

Brandon was sitting on the edge of it, but he sat down next to Scott and Jack sat on the other side. The voices outside reached a fever pitch. He could definitely hear Bobby, the loudest. He also heard Jerry and Angel. Someone who may have been Mr. Sundry, loudly protesting the accusations. This was funny, because Scott didn't remember accusing anybody. The front door banged open and Bobby dragged Mr. Sundry in, one arm locked behind his back, his fingers secured around the back of his neck. Scott stared up at him.

His nose was bleeding freely and he was sporting a black eye. His lip was split. There were bruises on his exposed skin. His clothes were wet and dirty, soaked in blood and mud. Bobby kicked the back of his shins, so he was forced to his knees.

"What do you have to say to my little brother, you god damn pervert?" Mr. Sundry opened his mouth and made a gurgling sound. Scott couldn't help it. He giggled. Jack rubbed his shoulders.

"Good to hear you laugh." He said.

Bobby was grinding Mr. Sundry's face into the carpet with his boot. "I said what are you going to say to my brother? You're going to school like this tomorrow, and everybody's gonna know what you are." Mr. Sundry made the noise again. It sounded like a cat being drowned. "Scott, you want to take a shot?"

Scott slid off the couch and crouched in front of his tormentor. He forgot about the eyes of his foster family, and Brandon, on him. He leaned down to whisper in Mr. Sundry's ear.

"Kind of ironic, isn't it Mr. Sundry?" He let his lips brush discreetly against the guidance counselor's ear. "I mean, you said no one would believe me. And they all did. But no, that's not the ironic part. The irony is that now, _I_ control _your_ future." He flicked open the pocket knife his father had given him for his ninth birthday, stabbing it roughly into Mr. Sundry's stomach. The teacher slumped against him, breathing shallowly.

"Scott, get him off you." Angel said firmly. Scott put his free hand on Mr. Sundry's shoulder and pushed him off.

"Dead weight." He said in explanation, holding up the knife. Bobby stared at it, and looked at Mr. Sundry.

"Did you kill him?" He asked. Scott shrugged and wiped blade on his pants to clean it.

"I dunno. Maybe." He stood, wavering unsteadily on his feet. Brandon caught his arm.

"Oh, God. Scott." Evelyn moaned. Jerry, staring in shock at Mr. Sundry, lifted her off her seat and brought her towards the kitchen. "Scott, _why_ didn't you say something?"

Brandon and Jack herded Scott over to the stairs. "I did it for my dad." He said to Jack. They led him up the stairs into his and Jack's room. "Now I can see him again."

"I get it." Jack said hastily. "Just go to sleep now." Scott sat on the edge of his bed. He wondered where Evelyn was. Jack was leaving the room, and Brandon sat next to him.

"I know they aren't your brothers." He said quietly, lacing his fingers and looking at his feet. "But Jackie really cares about you. Give them a chance."

It was kind of funny, really. He wasn't attracted to Brandon, so the dream wasn't making things awkward. At the same time, he couldn't stop remembering it. And that _was_ making things awkward.

"You think he's dead?" He asked Brandon. Brandon shrugged slowly. He lifted his finger to fool around with his nose ring. "Do you like my lip ring?" Brandon stared at it.

"Pretty gaudy." He admitted. "But it's cool. Did it hurt?" Scott nodded. "Yeah, so did this." He lifted his shirt to show off a large, snarling tiger tattooed over his heart. "Beauty is pain."

"You got that right." Scott muttered.

He leaned forward and clumsily kissed Brandon.

He seemed surprised, at first. Scott pulled back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Brandon stayed frozen where he was.

"W-what was that about?" He stammered. Scott dipped his head lower and ignored the question. "Um, I'd kinda like to know, since, you know, it involved me as well as you."

"Um, stress?" Scott suggested. "I don't know. Forget about it. I'm going to sleep." He fell back against a pillow and faced the wall. Stress. That was the understatement of the year. He was so stressed it felt like his eyes were tearing themselves out.

"Well, alright. I'll just sit here and- watch you, then." Brandon rubbed his palms together rapidly. He stood and walked out of the room, swearing. God, the Mercers were so fucked. He went downstairs, where Bobby was dragging a half-conscious Mr. Sundry from the house. "What's going on?" He asked Jack, who sat at the base of the stairs.

Jack glanced up at him, eyes watering. "Scott used a pocket knife. It wouldn't have killed him. Bobby's gonna drop him off at the hospital, and we're not gonna say anything as long as he doesn't."

Brandon put an arm around Jack's shoulders and kissed his forehead. "It's gonna be okay, babe. Don't worry."

In the hallway above them, Scott wrapped his arms around himself and retreated into his room.

He was happy for Jack. As happy as possible, considering.

_Thanks to all my reviewers. You make me happy inside._


	10. Chapter 10

The sunlight filtered through Evelyn's hand-crocheted curtains. Scott blinked his eyes open. He closed them again when he realized where he was and what had taken place. He was pretty sure Evelyn would have made Jack sleep downstairs. He didn't move for several long moments, finally turning to stare at the empty doorway. The room was vacant. Carefully, Scott slid onto the floor and crawled to the closet. He changed into a long sleeved white shirt and baggy gray cargo shorts, and then walked downstairs barefoot.

All the Mercers were sitting around the table. Scott half-expected to see Brandon, who was fast becoming another brother, but he was not there. Scott figured he would have left so the family could have some quality time.

"Good-" Scott broke off and coughed into his elbow, his voice cracking. He sat on the counter and tried again. "Good morning."

It sounded like he had a cold, which was strange. Evelyn stood and walked around the table to hug him. She sobbed into his shoulder while rocking him back and forth. All the while, he concentrated on the Cheshire cat clock on the opposite wall.

"I said good morning." He said rudely, once she pulled away. "That wasn't an invitation."

"Stop being so damn rude." Bobby snapped. Jerry hit him. "What? He's not gonna break."

"Bobby, shut up." Angel said, sounding tired.

"You guys wanna hear something funny?" Scott asked. Nobody answered, and he slammed his feet into the cabinets so hard his heel started to bleed. Evelyn winced. "Today's my fifteenth birthday." He looked around." Did anybody know that?"

"Of course we did, sweetheart." Evelyn murmured. She brushed a streak of green from his dark eyes. "I think, and your brothers agree, that you should go to the police station and report Mr. - Mr. Sundry." Her words trembled a bit saying his name.

Scott tilted his head back and breathed out slowly. "You wanna hear another something funny?" He asked again. "I'm an only child. I mean, unless Dad-"

"Scott." Angel said sharply. "You need to accept the fact you've been adopted. We are your family now. We're supposed to take care of you."

"Fine fucking job you've done of that." Scott countered slyly. His lips curled into an amused smirk. For a moment, no one said anything.

Bobby jumped to his feet and grabbed Scott's elbow, hauling him off the counter and towards the back door.

"Bobby, stop!" Jack insisted, trying to block the way. Bobby moved past him easily, headed for his car.

"We're just going for a ride, Jacqueline." He sneered, tugging Scott along. "Don't worry. I'll be back before curfew."

The other three brothers stood in the doorway, Evelyn in front of them. Her hands were clasped to her chest, like a sobbing Madonna. Bobby opened the passenger door and pushed his younger brother in, then went around to the driver's side. He pulled out, leaving the others behind.

Scott shivered, being barefoot and in shorts. It had snowed the night before. He drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, stoically refusing Bobby's offered coat.

"I'm not turning on the heat." He warned, an edge to his voice. Scott rubbed his eyes.

"Aren't you even going to say happy birthday?" He asked, playing with a streak of bright green. Bobby tightened his grip on the steering wheel and pulled into an empty parking lot, shutting off the engine. He leaned back and sighed.

"We're only trying to help." He said, trying to sound gentle. Scott snorted disbelievingly, and Bobby's lip curled. "I'm serious." He insisted. "I just wanna know-"

"What do you wanna know? Scott interrupted. He unfolded his legs and glared at his foster brother. "What do you 'just wanna know', Bobby?" He got on his knees and leaned into the driver's seat.

"Scott-" Bobby began. Scott cut him off when he threw one leg over Bobby's seat, essentially straddling him. Bobby narrowed his eyes. "Get off." He commanded, slightly concerned that Scott weighed barely anything.

Scott tried not to concentrate on the feeling of Bobby's denim jeans against his pale skin. He leaned forward, one hand on either side of Bobby's arms.

"Do you just wanna know- what Mr. Sundry did to me?" He continued without skipping a beat. "You wanna know what he made me do?"

"I don't care." Bobby said forcefully. "I wanted to know why you didn't trust us." Scott forced a laugh. Bobby grabbed his wrists and pushed him back against the wheel. "Why didn't you say anything?" He demanded.

"Because." Scott whispered, surly. He climbed off Bobby and sat cross-legged in the passenger seat, looking out his window. "If I said something, my dad would have found out. And that can't happen."

"I don't mean to be the bearer of bad news, kid, but your dad's in jail for throwing you against a wall." Bobby reminded him. Scott gave a shaky laugh. "To be honest, I don't think he would care one way or another about what happens to you."

Scott glared out the window, pressing his knuckles against his lips. His shoulders shook and his eyes squeezed shut. Bobby hesitantly reached out and put his arms around Scott. He leaned against the older man, breathing in the heady scent of pot and sweat on Bobby's flannel shirt. Despite being initially resilient, Scott relaxed and started to cry.

"I'm sorry." Bobby muttered, rubbing his back. "That was an asshole thing to say. I'm sorry."

"It's not you." Scott sobbed. "It's not my dad, either. I don't know what it is." He hiccupped and buried his face in Bobby's broad shoulder. "It's cold. Can I borrow your jacket?" He shivered when Bobby, chuckling, put the jacket around him.

One reason was that it was cold. The other reason being he was embarrassed now by what he had just done.

He wiped his nose on his sleeve and coughed. "Can we go back now?" He asked quietly. Bobby nodded and started the engine.

They drove home in relative silence, broken only when Bobby turned on the radio and fiddled with the dials. They pulled into the driveway and Scott got out. He hopped across front yard on patches of dirt and asphalt, carefully avoiding the gray mush of snow.

They went through the front door, and Scott found himself face-to-face with social worker Jenny.


	11. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer_

"I don't understand." Jack protested, as Scott emptied his returned bag onto the bed. "What's going on?" Scott rubbed his palm over his cheek, trying to wake himself up, and turned to face Jack.

"My- my dad got out." He muttered. "He's fighting the state for custody. I have to go see him."

Jack raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Didn't your dad-"

"Yeah, he did." Scott broke in. He poked his lip ring with his tongue. It did not even hurt anymore. "Turn around." He commanded Jack. Jack obliged and Scott changed into a pair of skinny jeans.

"Did I tell you I like your hair?" Jack asked when he turned back around. Scott tried to smile but failed. He fiddled with the studded bracelet around his wrist. "It'll be okay." He said encouragingly, ruffling Scott's hair. "You'll come back and live with us, and we'll protect you. Like we should have done before." He stooped slightly, blue eyes staring into brown. "I promise." He whispered.

Scott felt his voice fail. He mouthed a few words and turned away, clearing his throat. "Thanks." He said, turning and leaving the room.

Jenny stood by the door, searching him for a coat. Bobby appeared beside her and handed him the thick wool one from the car.

"Um, please give me one moment with my son." Evelyn asked. Jenny's thoughtful eyes narrowed slightly, but she nodded and stepped onto the porch. Evelyn turned to Scott and pulled him into a crushing hug. "I know things have been difficult for you." She murmured into his ear. "But you can still stay here, with us. I promise you I won't let anybody hurt you, ever again." She slowly released him, looking into his eyes.

He awkwardly laced his fingers and looked down. "Thanks, Evelyn." He said, almost inaudibly. "But if it's all the same to you, I miss my dad."

He heard Angel's scoff from the corner, but he didn't look up. He didn't wait for a reply, instead heading for the door to join Jenny. She was down by her car, smoking a cigarette, and she opened the door and slid into her seat as he circled the front and sat in the passenger's seat.

The drove most of the way in silence. Finally, about halfway there, Scott spoke up. "Will I get to live with my dad again?" He asked.

Jenny glanced at him. She looked disappointed at his question. "Your dad needs to go to alcoholics anonymous classes twice a week for the next thirteen months." She said. "He needs to check in with a parole officer every week, and has to keep a steady job and apartment. He's been to a court-ordered psychologist, who said he was fit to parent." Her shell-pink nails picked at the stitching on the wheel. "If he can do all that for the next eight months, you'll be able to stay with him permanently. For now, this is just a trial run."

"But I can stay there." Scott persisted. "It's not just a visit, right? I can stay?"

Jenny nodded, although she didn't look to happy about it. Already, he was beginning to like her less and less. She didn't seem quite as maternal now.

Satisfied, Scott leaned back against his seat and watched the stores and street-lights flash by. They pulled into a rough-looking neighborhood, stopping in front of a beat-up old tenement building.

This trip was just a visit, with social workers closely observing their interaction. If Scott's father proved a suitable enough father, the next visit would be a permanent stay.

They walked up the stairs to apartment 6B, the six hanging upside down ominously, like a noose. Jenny knocked on the door and it swung open, revealing a grizzled bear of a man in a stained wife beater and torn jeans.

"Hey kiddo." His father pulled him into a tight hug, the tears in his eyes proof enough for both caseworkers that Jimmy really had changed.

_sorry i haven't updated in a while. been crazy busy with graduation and final projects all that jazz._


	12. Chapter 12

Two down, six to go.

Scott had traded one Hell for another. Obviously, his father had not changed. They were both superb actors, crying at the right moment, hugging each other. Jimmy even swore he would never lay a hand on him again. Thirty-four years of experience taught him how to fool urine tests. Lying fooled the psychiatrist, who really just counted the minutes until he could get home to his wife. As for AA- well, showing up was more than enough.

Even showing up drunk counted for you, and not against you.

Scott was lying on the couch, legs jackknifed, arms folded across his chest. At the rickety kitchen table, Jimmy was playing quarters and poker with two friends from some bar.

It was almost ten at night. Outside, freezing rain lashed at the windows. Scott was counting the moments until his father passed out. Usually it was about eleven, but tonight he had gotten an early start. With the end of the NFL, Jimmy's local team had started up again.

They had won.

A knock came at the door. Scott glanced at his father for a fleeting instant before heaving himself up off the couch. He crossed the room, stepping lightly over beer bottles and cigarette cartons.

The door opened to reveal a twenty something brunette in a belly shirt and tight pants.

"Hey Marley." Scott said, stepping back to let his father's new girlfriend in. She waved to him and headed for Jimmy, stumbling only slightly in her four-inch heels.

"Hey baby." She cooed, bending to kiss his cheek. "I heard your team won. I thought we could celebrate." From her purse, she extracted a bottle of vodka and a baggie of coke, showing Jimmy under the table. Outwardly, she winked at him.

"I think I can swing that." Jimmy grinned. "See you guys later." He grabbed her around the waist and swung her onto his lap, kissing her neck.

"Right on, Jimmy." One man sniggered. He and his friend stood and headed for the door, obviously not knowing they were about to miss a different party.

The slamming of the door made Scott flinch. He sat on the couch, criss cross apple sauce, head bowed, as Marley poured the white powder onto the table and arranged it into a line. He stood and slowly made his way to his room.

"Does Scott want a hit?" Marley asked, sniffing and wiping her nose. Scott froze. He stood very still and stared at his father.

"I dunno." Marley held Jimmy's long hair back as he bent to snort the next line. "Ask him."

"You want to try, sweetie?" Marley called out. He glanced at his father, who held his gaze impassively.

"I don't want to bother you guys." Scott said awkwardly, shoving his hands in his back pockets. He didn't want to insult his father by joining, or by refusing to join.

"It'll be fun." Marley wheedled. Scott stared at his father, who jerked his head for him to come over. "Have you ever done this before?" Marley was so nice. Scott mutely shook his head.

"Kid's a fuckin' saint." Jimmy grunted. Marley laughed.

"It's easy." She arranged another line of white and told him to hold his hair back. He did as she instructed. "Alright, now bend over and just breathe it in through your nose."

Feeling stupid, Scott bent and put his nose into the dust. He started to inhale it, but it burned his nose right away and he jerked back.

"Ow." He mumbled, holding his hands to his face.

Marley laughed sympathetically while Jimmy snorted in amusement. She motioned for him to try again. Determined to impress his father, Scott knelt and snorted the whole line.

"Jesus." He hissed. He put his hand to his nose and it came away bloody.

"Popped your cherry." Jimmy snarled, laughing louder. The sound echoed through the cramped, small room. Scott stared up at him, weaving slightly. "Is it fun?"

"Jimmy, he looks sick." Marley said, sounding worried. Jimmy pushed her off him and stood, grabbing Scott's hair and wrenching his head back. "Don't- don't hurt him."

Everything was blurred now, trails leading after Jimmy's hand as he raised and let it fall down on Scott's cheek.

"Wake up!" He said loudly.

"Jimmy, don't." Marley whispered. She knew it was no use but Jimmy's son was cute, and she liked having him around. She liked the way he watched her when she bent over or strolled across the room. It made her feel pretty, prettier than when Jimmy passed out on top of her.

She especially liked the way Scott kissed. They had only done it a couple times, on the couch after Jimmy knocked himself out. Marley sitting on his lap, her long arms around his neck. Once she let him put his hand up her shirt. It was cute in a little kid kind of way.

Scott had the characteristics of a rape victim, which she recognized from a girl she had turned tricks with a few years back. Sometimes she wondered what Jimmy did when she was not around. He didn't seem like a pedophile, and she could hold his interest well enough.

Still, one couldn't help but wonder-

"Scottie, wake the fuck up!" Jimmy shouted, breaking Marley from her reverie. He shook him by his skinny shoulders, panicked.

"Oh my god, Jimmy!" Marley shrieked. She reached out, as if to take him, but Jimmy sat him on the couch and slapped him again.

"Dad-" Scott whispered. "I told him- I said no-" He wasn't making much sense. His words were slurred, his eyes half-closed. "I- I'm sorry- Dad."

"Shut up!" Jimmy yelled. "Just shut the fuck up. Get your ass up, right now Scott."

His son slid from his grasp, shirt riding up as he reached the floor to expose painful looking bruises across his stomach.

Marley covered her mouth with her hands, breathing heavily. She had to slow down, because if she didn't she knew she would hyperventilate.

"Scott, honey, wake up." She sobbed.

Scott could see Marley's mascara stained cheeks and his father's scruffy beard, looming in ever closer. He tried to stay awake. He really did.

Slowly, everything slipped into a gray-green sort of haze. He thought he heard the word hospital, but damn it he was really tripping.

Was this bad?


	13. Chapter 13

Scott, what are we going to do with you?" The amused voice in his head was like a nightmare come true.

Scott shifted in his sleep and frowned. He had dreamt of Mr. Sundry before. Horrible, horrible nightmares. He felt cold fingers on his wrist and inhaled sharply. His father usually woke him up before Mr. Sundry could touch him.

_Stop screaming, you'll wake the dead_.

Of course Jimmy wouldn't know about that. He probably thought Scott was reliving some awful beating from the past. Scott certainly never told him.

"Go away." He murmured.

"Not this time."

Scott opened his eyes and sat up, glaring at Mr. Sundry through a curtain of dark hair. The greenish streaks had faded, leaving a chemical-looking blond in their wake. He liked the effect, but he missed the colors.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded. He looked around for the first time and realized he had no idea where he was. "What's going on?"

Sterile green walls. The lonely beep of a heart monitor. The smell of antiseptic. He was in a hospital. His head hurt.

"What am I doing here?" He growled. Mr. Sundry looked at him sadly. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand resting casually on Scott's leg. Scott wanted to push him off but he was too tired.

"Overdose." Mr. Sundry said. "On cocaine. Scott, what am I going to do with you?" He repeated. Scott pushed his hand away and bent his legs, leaning forward onto his knees.

"You aren't going to do anything with me." He whispered. He breathed in the flowery scent of bleach, his breath heating his face. "Please leave now."

"On the contrary, I've suggested a plan that social services, and your father, seem to like." Scott looked up, eyes wary. "You're going to be staying with me for a little while. How does that sound?"

His heart stopped. He could feel it, in his chest, as every last drop of blood was squeezed before it shriveled between his lungs.

"No." He whispered. "Please don't do this to me. I just want to go home." Mr. Sundry reached out to cradle his cheek. "Please." He begged. "Let me go home."

"Sneaking out." The guidance counselor clucked his tongue affectionately. "Snorting coke. Drinking. Like high school all over again, don't you think?"

"Except this time you don't have a desk you can bend me over." Scott spat, flushing at his boldness. Mr. Sundry laughed.

"I have one of those at home." He sneered. Scott felt his blood freeze in his veins. Gently, Mr. Sundry leaned over and kissed him. "I'll have to be careful with you." He said mildly. "Drug overdoses are a serious thing."

"I want my dad. Please let me see him." Scott pleaded. Mr. Sundry grabbed his upper arm and hauled him to his feet. "No, I don't want to go."

"It's either with me or to jail." Mr. Sundry threatened. "And either way, it'll happen Scott. The question is, me or some skinhead shit in the bunk next to you?" His grip on Scott's upper arm was painfully tight. When he let go, there were white finger prints.

"Okay." Scott said quietly. "Alright, I'll go."

"Good boy." Mr. Sundry handed him a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and his ripped black Vans. He stared unabashedly as Scott changed, his movements stiff and embarrassed. "Let's go."

The nurses didn't seem to notice Mr. Sundry's arm draped around Scott's shoulders. They glared at him as they typed his discharge, just another cokehead getting a get out of jail free card. They emerged from the darkness of the building into an unfairly sunny day.

The entire drive home, Mr. Sundry kept his hand on Scott's knee. There was a little smile on his lips. He even touched the lip ring a few times.

"Your hair is so pretty, Scott." He mused, catching a few strands between his fingers. He pulled tight, pinpricks of pain blooming on his scalp.

"Thanks." Scott muttered.

They pulled up in front of an apartment building, and Mr. Sundry led the way up to his rooms. Once they were inside, he locked the door, grabbed Scott's arms, and kissed him.

His teeth clicked against Scott's, causing him to cry out in pain. Mr. Sundry took the opportunity and shoved his tongue in Scott's mouth.

"You're hurting me." Scott protested, trying to pull away. Mr. Sundry forced him into the room, sitting down on the couch and kissing him again.

"God, you have no idea how long I've waited for this." He murmured. He reached down and grabbed the hem of Scott's shirt. "Lift up your arms." He commanded. Scott looked to the floor and wrapped his arms around himself. "I said lift them up, damn it!" Mr. Sundry yelled. He grabbed Scott's wrists and yanked the thin shirt up and off him, then pushed him back.

"I- I changed my mind." Scott stammered. He tried to stand, but the older man was too strong. He pinned him down with his knee. "Let go. I don't want to."

"Doesn't matter what you want anymore." Mr. Sundry breathed. He lifted his shirt high enough to expose his pale belly, marked with a thin pink scar. "You put something in me that didn't belong. Now, I'm going to return the favor."

He chuckled at the look on Scott's face as he twisted to get out of his grip.

"Stop."

He prayed under his breath. God, give him the strength to change things that he could change.

With a strong upward kick, Scott forced Mr. Sundry off of him and sprawling across the floor. He darted toward the door, but almost instantly, Mr. Sundry tackled him, pinning his hands over his head.

"You belong to me, Scott." He said breathlessly. "We belong together. How can you not see that?" He lowered his head and kissed Scott's neck. It tickled, and he trembled.

Did they belong together? He hadn't thought about it. They had been through a lot, even though they were on opposite teams, so to speak. He paused a moment while Mr. Sundry's hands traveled lower and lower, just to consider the possibility.

He heard the ringing of a belt being undone.

Fuck that.

He slammed his knee up towards Mr. Sundry's groin. He missed his target, but he hit the sensitive skin of his inner thigh and that worked well enough.

Grabbing his shirt, Scott scrambled to unlock the door. He felt Mr. Sundry's nails rake down in his back, and he stifled a cry, sprinting down the hallway. He took the steps two at a time and dodged a woman coming through the front door.

Outside was freezing, and he struggled to get his shirt on while simultaneously running. He could hear footsteps behind him, but he was afraid to look back.

The streets confused him. He was unfamiliar with this particular district. He turned a corner onto a street full of club and kept running until he ran straight into someone leaving a bar, which sent him to the ground.

Bobby.

Scott couldn't believe his good fortune. He was breathing wildly, looking in all directions as Bobby wrapped his arms around his waist and tried to pull him up onto his feet.

"He okay?" Someone asked. Bobby was yelling something in his ear, but he was still looking for Mr. Sundry. "Bobby, man, you gotta take that kid to the hospital. Wait here and I'll get my car."

"No!" Scott shouted. He paused to catch his breath. "No, it's okay. I'm happy to see Bobby. I was looking for him."

"You guys go on." Bobby ordered roughly. His friends raised quizzical eyebrows, but did as he told them. Bobby sat him down on the edge of the street and patted his back. "Alright, calm down. What happened?"

Scott took in a shaky breath, trying to fill his lungs. They felt like they were tightening. He tried to breath again, and it hurt.

"Slow down." Bobby insisted. "It's okay. Just tell me what's wrong?" Scott coughed hoarsely and leaned over.

"I'm gonna be sick." He groaned.

"Okay, okay." Bobby said soothingly. He helped Scott stand up again and guided him into an alley. "Just take your time." He held Scott's hair back while the smaller boy vomited into a trash can. "Tell me what happened. I can't do anything unless I know what happened."

"I want to come back." Scott whispered.

He felt tears sting the corners of his eyes, and he pressed the heels of his palms against them to make them go away. He took a deep, shuddering breath, following Bobby blindly to his car.

"Alright, kiddo, hold on." The car pulled into the road, and Bobby drove him back to Evelyn's house.

The only place Scott considered home.


	14. Chapter 14

"Sweetheart, can I get you something?" Evelyn had already passed him a cup of tea, an ice pack (he was not sure what for) and a sweatshirt.

"I'm fine." He sighed.

Someone snorted at this statement, but he was too tired to look up. Jack, Jerry, and Evelyn had all been home when they had shown up. Angel was summoned immediately from his new girlfriend's house, and had arrived only moments later.

They all sat in the kitchen, Bobby sitting directly beside him.

"Why don't we give you some space?" Jerry suggested.

Jack immediately sat down and leaned toward him. "What happened to you man? You get hit by a truck?"

Jerry scowled. "Space, Jack, space." He reproached. "I said give him space, not crowd around him."

"Scott." Evelyn said gently. "I know about the cocaine."

Silence. Scott studied the pattern on the placemat, using his finger to draw little spirals on it.

"The cocaine?" Angel repeated. "Since when do you snort that shit, man?" He asked. He seemed surprised rather than upset, whereas Bobby looked furious.

"Coke?" He yelled. He stood so quickly his chair tipped over backwards. Scott flinched. "You're using coke?"

"One time." He said defensively. "It was one fucking time. And suddenly everybody is so damn concerned, all over again, and Dad doesn't want me anymore." He bit his trembling lower lip, determined not to cry. He was fifteen, for Christ's sake. "And everybody at the hospital looks at me like-"

"The hospital?" Jerry exploded. "What are you doing here, if you were at the hospital? You need help, Scott!"

"I don't need help!" Scott screamed, clutching his pounding hand. "I am not fucking sick! Marley was snorting it, and she said _I_ should try it, and I didn't _want_ to but Dad said I should, 'cause I'm such a fucking saint. So I did and look where it fucking got me!" He tried to calm down.

"Here?" Jack offered. Scott shook his head.

"No. Here was later, after I ran away." He muttered. His throat felt raw. "Mr. Sundry said it was either his house or jail, and I don't _want_ to go to jail."

It took a moment for everything to process, but it all finally clicked.

"Mr. Sundry?" Angel repeated, voice low. Scott nodded. "You saw him?" Scott nodded again. "When?"

"What time is it?" Scott asked sarcastically. Bobby hit him upside the head. "Ow." He mumbled.

"Bobby Mercer!" Evelyn scolded. "Don't hit him."

"Whatever." He rolled his eyes and stood, grabbing Scott's arm. "Come on, kid. Time for bed." Nobody protested this except for Scott, but Bobby cut him off. "You look like the walking dead. You can't go around like this. Let's go."

He glanced at Evelyn, but she only stood and kissed his forehead. Bobby walked him back up the familiar stairs and into Jack's room. His own bed was stripped and empty-looking.

"You sleep on Jackie's bed." Bobby ordered. Scott sat down obediently, watching Bobby stumble around. "He'll bunk with me."

He started to leave, but Scott caught his arm. "I don't want to be by myself tonight." He said softly, blushing. Bobby sat down cautiously next to him. "I'm scared, Bobby. What if he comes here?"

"Then I'll kick his ass from here to the Gulf of Mexico." Bobby promised. Scott let his head rest on Bobby's shoulder, inhaling sharply when his fingers brushed the scratches. "Sorry." He whispered.

After a moment the light came on, and Scott blinked up at Bobby.

"What?"

"Can I- can I see them?" Scott stiffened. "I won't hurt them. I just wanna look." Scott nodded finally and turned away.

Bobby lifted his shirt up, and he struggled to stay calm. It was only Bobby's fingers trailing across his back, touching the raw scrapes gently.

Bobby's lip ghosting across his skin.

He straightened his spine and pulled away. Bobby said something akin to 'I'm sorry', voice strangled and unclear. He lowered Scott's shirt and patted his shoulder, much more gently this time. Then he stood and headed for door. He paused.

"Good to have you back, kid." He said finally, stumbling over his words.

Scott nodded and laid down on the bed, pretending not to notice Bobby had left him alone.

Mr. Sundry's lip were hot and firm against his collarbone. He felt his fingers, poking and prodding at him. He wanted to push him off but his limbs felt weighted and dead. Useless fucking arms.


	15. Chapter 15

_Scott_.

Whose voice was that, calling his name?

"Scottie, fucking wake up, damn it!"

Oh. Of course. Scott held his hand up against the glare of the sun, squinting at his father's silhouette. Jimmy grabbed his wrist and pulled him to his feet, dusting him off and inspecting him.

"Ready to go home?" Scott sat up and wrapped his arms loosely around himself. Jack was standing defensively in the doorway, and behind him stood Brandon.

"I think you should wait until Ma gets home." Jack suggested evenly. Jimmy snorted and curled his arm around his son's slim waist. He wasn't the type of father who worried when he felt Scott's ribs.

"Yeah, and then what?" He cracked. "Call social services 'cause my son's a fucking cokehead?" Jimmy laughed, but Jack narrowed his eyes. "I don't think so. Come on, buddy."

"Whatever." Scott mumbled. He glanced up and saw Brandon watching him, but neither said anything.

Jimmy's beat up car was idling out in the driveway. Bobby's car was gone, as was Evelyn's. Scott was pretty sure Jack was all by himself. He sat in the front seat and looked out the windshield as the car started and they quickly drove home.

Jimmy was breathing heavily. His grip on the wheel was white-knuckled, and his eyes were bloodshot. Scott tried to stay in his corner of the car.

They arrived back at home and walked slowly up the creaky stairs, not saying anything to one another. Scott tensed his shoulders as the door closed, just before his father reached out and hit him with an open fist.

Pain exploded in his jaw. He could taste blood, and he turned to face Jimmy while swishing it around his mouth.

"You damn brat." Jimmy growled, grabbing him around the throat and tightening his grip. "What the fuck were you thinking?" He pushed Scott down and kicked him. "You think they want anything to do with you?"

"No." Scott blurted. It was true, really. The Mercers probably had a lot of other shit on their minds. They didn't need Scott and all of his many, many problems.

Jimmy seemed to think he was just being clever. He planted one work boot on Scott's chest and reached for his belt.

Scott was laying on his back, knees bent, eyes closed. When he heard the jingle of the belt, he felt his throat tighten. Like an allergic reaction. "No!" He yelled, twisting away.

Jimmy had been angry, but now he was surprised. Scott might not be the most well-mannered son, but he kept his mouth shut when Jimmy raised his hands. He crouched and giggled, ringing his belt again. Scott rolled onto his side, mouth set in a firm line.

"What's wrong, Scottie?" He howled, grabbing Scott's chin and pressing his face into his neck. "What's wrong? Does this scare you?"

"Get off." Scott barked, pushing at his father's chest. Jimmy grabbed his wrists and pulled him into a sitting position.

"What exactly happened at that house, Scottie?" He sneered. "Maybe I should call the cops. Then I won't have to worry 'bout you running off there again." He took his chin in his hand and forced him to look at him. "Will I?"

"You let it happen!" Scott snapped. He scooted further back, narrowly dodging the blow aimed for him. "Letting that damn guidance counselor try and take me home. You're supposed to be my dad."

"What?" Jimmy snarled. "What did you just say to me? What fucking guidance counselor?" Scott scrambled to his feet and tried to get away. His father grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled him back. "That why you got that ring?" He screamed. "You're a fag?"

"I'm not a fag!" Scott shouted back. His father slapped him. "Let go." He kicked at his shins and nearly stumbled when his father hit him again. Blood dribbled over his upper lip.

"Come here." Jimmy growled. Scott shook his head. He wiped blood from his nose and looked around for a towel. "Scott-"

A knock sounded at the door. Scott watched curiously as his father moved to his answer it, movements jerky and slow.

"Yeah?" He grunted.

"Is Scott here?" That was Angel's voice. Scott froze. He looked around wildly for something to stem the flow of blood.

"Can't talk." Jimmy grunted. "I dunno if you heard, but Scottie tried to kill himself. Overdose on coke. He's asleep." There was a murmur of another voice, to which Jimmy replied: "I said he's asleep."

Scott closed the door to the bathroom quietly, pulling on a heavy black hoodie and pressing a towel to his nose.

"You can't come in here!" Jimmy said loudly. He heard Bobby speaking, then Angel, their words indecipherable. "I fucking said he's asleep. You want me to call the cops?"

Someone, Angel maybe, laughed at this threat. Scott had to agree. The Mercers dealt with the cops enough to be on first-name basis. It wouldn't make any difference; in fact it might help.

The doorknob moved and the door started to open. Scott jammed his foot against it, leaning into the sink for leverage.

"I'm in the bathroom." He said quickly.

"Scott, it's us." Bobby said. "Bobby and Angel."

"I know who it is." Scott replied. He pressed harder on the door when Bobby tried to force it open. "You do that again, Michigan Mauler, and you're gonna snap my damn ankle."

The pressure on the door lessened, but Bobby didn't close it. "It's okay." He insisted. "We're gonna take you back to Ma's place. You can come stay with us."

"What?" Jimmy barked. "No. He's fine." Angel was saying something. Scott, distracted, didn't notice Bobby forcing the door open until it was. "Get out of here." His father shouted. Angel was restraining him easily. "I swear to God I'm calling the damn cops if you touch a single hair on my boy's head." He winced when Angel tightened his grip. "Get out."

"You don't look too good, kiddo." Bobby said dryly. Scott glared at him, bringing his injured leg up to the counter and touching it gently.

"Yeah, I don't. Jesus Christ, I think you broke my leg." He hopped off the counter and turned away, embarrassed. "It's just the coke. Dad didn't do anything."

Bobby pulled the towel away from his face and tilted his head back. "You got a bruise." He said quietly. "Did your drugs knock you on your ass?"

"Dad didn't do anything." Scott repeated, more adamantly this time. "I have to stay here."

Bobby grabbed his arm, looking like he was ready to drag him away. Then he relented. "_I_ want you to stay with us." He tried.

Scott paused. He fidgeted nervously, reaching up to see if the flow of blood had stopped yet. "Well, I guess I could come say hello." He muttered. "If Evelyn wants to see me."

"Yeah, _Scottie_." Bobby smirked. "She wants to see you."


	16. Chapter 16

Evelyn and Jerry were at work. Angel had gone out with some friends, celebrating a one-month anniversary with his new girlfriend, a pretty Latina named Sofia. Jack was out with Brandon.

Scott had been living with the Mercers for nearly a week now. He was sitting in the living room, watching a hockey game with Bobby.

"My team is the ones with the black leaves on the back." Bobby explained, pointing to the screen with the neck of his beer bottle. Scott rolled his eyes.

"I know who your team is." He snickered. "I hope they lose." He laughed when Bobby jumped on him, growling.

"Brat." He grumbled.

Suddenly they were much too close. Scott's breath hitched in his throat, and Bobby leaned down and slowly kissed him.

It wasn't like Mr. Sundry, which hurt a lot and made him feel dirty. It wasn't like Brandon either, which had been awkward and unplanned. It was a little bit like kissing Marley, only Bobby didn't taste like beer pretzels and spit. Kissing the two of them felt normal and safe.

Bobby was surprising himself, kissing his foster brother. His _fifteen year old_ foster brother. He tried to stop himself, honestly, but he could not help it. Scott was so small. It was like holding a girl, with his long hair and narrow chest. He hadn't meant to make him uncomfortable, but of course fingers on his stomach was reminiscent of Mr. Sundry and he pushed Bobby off.

"Sorry." Bobby muttered. Scott wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and brought his knees to his chest. "It was an accident."

"No, it wasn't you." Scott said quickly. "That- that wasn't the problem." Bobby leaned back, lacing his fingers over his stomach and waiting patiently. "I thought- for a minute- it just felt like- like Mr. Sundry." He blushed.

"I'm not him." Bobby said patiently. "I told you, it was an accident. Don't worry."

"Everything's an accident." Scott said cryptically. He propped his chin up on his fist and stared blankly at the television. Bobby cocked an eyebrow, but Scott didn't elaborate his strange statement.

"I thought you said you weren't a fag."

Scott nearly choked and Bobby jumped to his feet, seething, facing Mr. Sundry.

"How the fuck did you get in here?" He snarled. The guidance counselor ignored him, staring almost sadly at Scott. "Get out. Leave him alone." Bobby persisted, trying to grab his arm.

"Don't touch me!" Mr. Sundry snapped. He pulled away and brandished a gun. "Only Scott can touch me."

"B-Bobby." Scott faltered. Mr. Sundry lunged for him and he darted away. "Make him stop."

"I'm doing this for us." Mr. Sundry said. He jerked his arm free of Bobby's grip. "So we can be together. So he won't touch you."

"I don't _care_ if he touches me!" Scott whispered miserably, not stopping to think about how that sounded. It certainly made Bobby pause. "I don't want _you_ to touch me."

Free, Mr. Sundry tried to grab Scott again. Bobby was too distracted to grab hold of him properly, and he held up the gun.

"Let us go."

That was all he said. Then he squeezed the trigger. Bobby's face twisted into something like confusion. He looked down and touched the bloodstain on his shirt, growing rapidly larger.

Scott stared, terrified, as Bobby sank slowly to his knees, feebly trying to stem the flow. His lips moved soundlessly. Mr. Sundry held the gun up and stepped toward Scott.

"You shot him!" He said hysterically. Mr. Sundry nodded. "That is my brother. You shot my _brother_."

"He wasn't kissing you like a brother." He had a manic gleam in his eyes that Scott didn't understand. "_I_ can kiss you like that. Not him."

Scott paused for half a second, and then ran to the kitchen. He slid on the slick tiles, his sneakers scrambling for purchase. He could hear Mr. Sundry behind him as he headed for the door.

An arm wrapped around his waist. Mr. Sundry threw him against the counter and pressed against him.

"Let go!" He screamed, thrashing. "Bobby!"

He was crying and he didn't even realize it. Tears streaked down his pale cheeks and he drew in a shaky breath.

"It's okay." Mr. Sundry kissed his eyelids and his lips, embracing him and holding him close. "I'm here now. I've got you."

"P-please let me go." Scott begged, coughing and crying. "Don't do this. Please don't." It hurt to cry this hard. His throat ached and his body felt light. "Mr. Sundry, I'm only fi-"

Mr. Sundry cut him off by pressing his lips firmly against Scott's. His teeth bit down. Not quite hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough. He pulled back and ran his fingers across Scott's temple. "It'll be quick, I promise." He said, pulling the gun out again. "There's nothing left to get in our way, Scott. I took care of your dad for you. He won't ever touch you again."

"My- my dad?" Scott whimpered. "What did you do to my dad?" Mr. Sundry didn't answer. "You- you couldn't have. What did you do to my dad?" He repeated, voice rising.

"I'll shoot you first, okay?" Mr. Sundry said. "Then, I promise, I'll shoot myself. We'll be together forever, just like we always wanted."

Scott stared at the gun. The gun that killed Bobby. Mr. Sundry raised it and pressed it against his temple. He smiled, holding his wrists together.

"I love you, Scott." He murmured. He cocked the gun.

Then he frowned, letting out a distorted whine, and looked at his chest. Behind him, Bobby pulled the knife out and pushed him aside. Scott felt himself hyperventilating again. He wiped his eyes with shaky hands.

"Bobby." He wailed. "What am I gonna do?" Bobby started forward, and then remembered the knife. He looked around for a place to put it, finally reaching over setting it on the counter.

Then he grabbed Scott around the waist and pulled him into a tight embrace. His shoulder was wet where Scott was crying. His stomach hurt. Man, did his stomach hurt. His knees buckled, and he found he was suddenly looking to Scott for support.

"Bobby, I have to take you to the hospital." Scott said firmly. He wiped his bloodshot eyes and looped Bobby's arm over his shoulder.

"I'm fine." Bobby slurred, slowly. He rested his head on top of Scott's, putting his fingers under his chin and tilting his head back so he could kiss him. Scott let him for a second before pulling away. Bobby smirked. "One day." He sighed.

Scott had never driven a car before, but he did a pretty good job of navigating to the hospital. He helped Bobby out and brought him into the ER.

Doctors in white coats and nurses, who seemed awfully nosy, put him on a gurney and wheeled him out while Scott signed him in.

He called Evelyn and left a message at the house, and then he walked out and drove Bobby's car back to the Mercer's.

He didn't stay there. He shoved his clothes into a backpack and drove to his father's apartment. There was yellow crime scene tape across the door. He ducked under it, studiously ignoring the puddle of blood on the floor, and went into the bathroom. Under the sink, taped to the cabinet walls, was a baggy of his father's drug money. Two thousand dollars. That was plenty.

"Bye dad." Scott muttered in the driver's seat, smoking a cigarette and driving to the bus station. "Bye Evelyn. Bye Mercers." He abandoned the car in the parking lot and bought a bus ticket to Arizona.

As he waited in the lobby, staring at the big official clock, he thought to himself, _Goodbye Detroit_.


	17. Epilogue

Bobby Mercer was lying on the roof of his newly returned vehicle. He had worked out a self-defense plea with the detective in charge of his case, which had been a bit difficult considering Scott had skipped town and couldn't testify.

Still, the shooting of his father and a notebook belonging to Mr. Sundry, graphically detailing what he had done to Scott and what he wanted to do to Scott, was plenty of evidence for the police to conclude the respected guidance counselor was a pedophile.

Bobby himself got off with a month of probation and some community service, probably because someone at the precinct owed him a favor or two.

He laid his head back on his crossed arms and smoked a cigarette. Apparently, Scott hadn't told anyone where he was going, or that he was even leaving. Bobby was not too worried. He was pretty sure, one day, Scott would come back.

_One day_, he reminded himself.

The end. 11:53 a.m. 9/13/08.

_Thank you my readers, faithful and ever-effervescent. Thank you. Sorry chap 14 was so short. Hopefully you'll read my next one, whatever it may be. Goodbye._


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